


[untitled]

by Trismegistus (Lebateleur)



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Soulmates, Summer, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-10
Updated: 2005-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/pseuds/Trismegistus
Summary: Doings one summer evening.Set sometime afterThe Queen of Attolia.
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	[untitled]

The windows are open, moonlight spilling across the flagstones, throwing the elongated shadow of the chair in which they sit across the floor in front of them. Waves roll up to crash on the beach below, their roar blending with the sound of his rough, haggard breathing. Salt water. Salt in the sweat that slicks the hair to his temples, the back of his neck, curls it in dark tendrils about his forehead. Were she to lick it there, it would taste like the ocean.

He moans and writhes against her, the sweat on his back dragging the light silk of her bodice forward with him as he curls over himself. She is still clothed; he is not. In this, as in all things, the original balance of power is preserved. Such a scandal it remains to the nations on the continent, that she continues to rule as queen even after their marriage, that he contents himself with the title and rank of consort, as if this were still the old empire before it drowned in the molten rock and ash of Hephestia's furnace those many centuries ago. 

He is still shorter than she is, but one third again as heavy, and she knows her thighs will protest his weight tomorrow morning. But for now, this is enough. His neck arches back until his head rests against her shoulder, his sweaty cheek against hers. Its touch shifts slightly with the movement of her arm as she strokes her hand along the length of his phallus, delighting in the moans he gives with each sure pull of her wrist.

Still a boy, she thinks to herself and smiles, for all that he has made himself my consort. And truly, what do boys the world over delight in more than this? Only, it's a delight he has been unable to provide for himself, not perfectly, not since she the day she had the hand he'd preferred cut off. But she can do this for him now, and she does, more often than she would have thought boys of any age capable of. 

He's sighing now, his head fallen forward to rest against his chest, and she admires the perfectly formed curve of his skull as she plays with the sensitive skin near the tip of his erection. He gasps. 

Please, don't hurt me anymore, he'd whispered to her once. To have gone from that to this, she thinks, as he whispers her name and says, Please, please, don't stop, don't stop doing this to me. Please. My Queen. I love you. Please don't stop. 

She catches an earlobe between her teeth, sucks gently. He bucks, sobbing for air, and throws his head back onto her shoulder. She teases her way down the length of his neck, sucking at the tendons there, tasting his skin. His remaining hand bunches fitfully around the arm of the chair. He wants so desperately to fold it over hers, to guide her, but she'll stop everything if he so much as begins to attempt it. She's left him hanging before, often enough that he understands never to challenge her right to control the way in which she touches him.

But he has also taught her that she need not be unnecessarily cruel, and so she twines the fingers of her free hand through his, brings it to her mouth, and kisses them gently. My Queen, he sobs, Oh, my Queen, as the heat of his climax spills over her fingers.

Yes, she soothes, carding sticky fingers through the tangles of his hair, then takes him by the chin and turns him to face her so that she can kiss him on the lips. He no longer flinches from her touch.

My Queen, he whispers. You are my Queen. He rises, and takes her hand as he leads her to their bed.


End file.
